Not Enough Of Us
by writergirl89
Summary: Things between Jake and Amy have been different since their date and has remained as such - until one of them gets sick. Fluffity-fluff one-shot if you can stomach it.


**Title:** Not Enough Of Us

**Author:** WriterGirl89

**Fandom:** Brooklyn Nine-Nine

**Rating: **K

**Pairing:** Jake/Amy

**Summary:** Things between Jake Peralta and Amy Santiago have been _different_ since their date night and one of them has all but, given up – until the other comes down with illness and their forced caretaker is none other than the last person they'd think of - and said caretaker has a realization.

**Author's Note:** Greetings! Got another idea for my new favorite OTP and decided to share it with you guys! I love this pairing a lot and have a renewed appreciation for Andy Samberg and his um, _physical aesthetics_. No, seriously, when did Samberg get hot? It's weird. I was just so used to seeing his antics on SNL and some movies that I never really did pay attention to anything else about him. And now…? Well, now things have changed a bit. Maybe it's because he's being a real actor in pockets on the show. Maybe it's the character. Or maybe it's the leather jacket. I don't know. Does someone wanna let me in on something? Because I don't understand. Also, I've never had laryngitis and am not a medical professional and as I write this, I'm looking things up as I go, so if I get stuff wrong, sorry.

**Disclaimer:** Ugh… why do I have say it? And, this gets real fluffy real quick. Just wanted a little something more innocent to differentiate from the smut that was my first J/A fic I wrote a while back.

...

"Santiago!" Jake howls as he bangs on his partner's apartment after his first couple of knocks are promptly ignored. "Amy!"

_God_, this is the last time he ever says yes to Holt when the thing has nothing to do with a case and _everything_ to do with Santiago falling ill at the most _inopportune_ moment and him having to swing by to make sure she's alright and yes, it's not _that_ bad to check on her but, ever since the _worst_ date of her life turned into one of the _best_ of his, things have been... weird. Fine and copasetic at work. They're _still_ good partners. But, personally? _Ugh_, she won't acknowledge him there. The friendship he thinks they're slowly developing has been hindered by her unwillingness to give him the time of day outside of work and now, he's here, trying to see if she's okay and not dying.

"No, no, it's cool." He says charismatically at the couple of neighbors that start sprouting out of their doors, giving them a small wave. "It's just my girl, you know? She changes the locks a lot." Funny looks all around and a few slammed doors now. "I just miss her _soo_ much!"

When Santiago does answer a few minutes later, Jake has a hard time recognizing her and takes in her red nose, puffy (glaring) eyes, pale make-up less face, and rumpled appearance of worn pajamas, animal slippers, and bathrobe and tries _very_ hard _not_ to feel concerned.

And most definitely, try not to harp on the fact that, right now, at her worst (possibly), she can_ still_ be the most beautiful thing he can ever lay eyes on.

Before he could do anything or make crack at her appearance or whatever, she's shoving a piece if paper into his face that he barely catches it before turning it over in his hands and seeing the hastily written words on the front. "What's this? A note. You shouldn't have." He smirks at her, chuckling at his words. "Is a love letter? Telling me how you feel finally?"

The glare she's already giving him becomes incredulous and the arms wrapped around her middle untangle so she can place her hands on her hips, a pose that spells classic Santiago Sass and she does that thing where she stares him down until he shakes his head and says. "Oookay-doke. Obviously not."

He looks at her letter then and starts reading because the first thing she wrote was 'READ OUT LOUD' in major caps.

_"Peralta."_ He starts off. _"I'm sick, as you can probably tell. I came down with, what I thought was, the flu a few days ago and after Holt sent me home, I went to the doctor's and was told I'm coming down with a case of laryngitis_ - laryngitis?" He looks at her then in surprise. "How did you get laryngitis?"

She gives him a look and just gestures madly to the paper.

"Alright, okay." He goes back to reading. _"Now, because of that and it would also hurt like a bitch, I can't talk, which sucks because I wanna yell at you right now, but it wouldn't be worth it and I don't want to waste my vocal cords." _That seems to be the end of the letter and he looks at her, mildly aghast. "Okay, that hurts me, just so you know."

The look on her face then_ almost_ resembles a slight smile at the right angle as she makes a circling motion with her finger to the paper.

He looks back at it and flips it over. _"P.S. You can also go to hell for waking me up and embarrassing me in front of my neighbors."_ He just gives her his most sour expression. "You mean the crack addict down the hall. I think I'll live."

He shoulders past her into her apartment, ignoring her weak sound of protest, as he walks in, uninvited.

The place_ pretty much_ looks the same as it had been when he'd been here Thanksgiving. Only more... _lived in_, if possible and he faintly recalls that she's been gone for three days before Holt sent him down here and that the unusually scattered couch, filled with magazines and books and remote controls, are just signs of her probable boredom and her attempts to kill it by doing anything mundane and normal, ironically.

He then spots some files on top of her dining room table. _Or not._

He moves to the kitchen next, hearing her shuffle behind him as he does so, the sound of her fluffy slippers making minimal noise on the hardwood floor compared to the louder thump of his boots.

"Jesus." It's not exactly what he would think up. The area looks barely used and there's no signs of recent preparation of food and/or cooking in any capacity and he didn't know any better, Jake would think it'd never have been used at all, though the number of take-out menus on her counter spell some trouble.

He opens the cupboards and fridge to find they are barely stocked and he looks at Amy in mock shock. "Really? You've been gone for three days and you've lived on take-out menus?"

She looks faintly guilty for a split second before her expression becomes defiant and she raises her chin up at him.

"Alright, geez." He slams her refrigerator door closed before walking over to her. "I'm gonna leave now and when I get back, don't ignore me and answer your damn door..." He looks at her for a moment before he reconsiders his idea. "Or better yet, gimme your keys, it'll make things easier." He sticks his hand out and waves his fingers, to which she just stares at him until she sighs with resignation and walking over to a her front door and producing a key from a side table and _stomping_ on over to give it to him.

"Thank you." He tells her genuinely before moving past her to the door, yelling over his shoulder. "And take a hot shower! You smell weird!"

He just narrowly avoids the bunny slipper flying at his head.

...

Jake gets back over an hour later, lugging groceries into his partner's apartment, brimming with veggies and deli and frozen meats and anything else he knows to be kitchen essentials and then throwing stuff he knows to be _way_ past their expiration dates out of Santiago's fridge and replacing them with the newly bought goods along with some refreshments he's sure she'd appreciate.

After a few minutes of surveying everything he got, he settles on soup because he's pretty sure that's the best thing to start the healing no matter _what_ you have and he starts on prep, grateful that his very Jewish mother got at least one good thing from his absentee father and said thing being his cooking skills and that besides the little bit of distant Italian blood and his last name, his dear ol' dad passed on some of his skills and that his mom also taught him as much.

He's just bringing the soup to a simmer when he has _that_ feeling in the back of his neck, his spidey senses on high as he feels himself being watched.

He lets it go for a few minutes as he adds in vegetables and some chicken pieces to the cooking liquid.

"You can come out, you know? I won't bite." He says out loud without turning around.

There's a broad silence for a long moment and he _does_ turn around just in time to see Amy peaking around the corner of her kitchen almost _sheepishly_. "Relax, no one's poisoning you. It's just chicken soup, I promise." He crosses his heart, just to punctuate his point.

She disappears and comes back with a pad and pen and shuffles to her counter, sitting in one of the stools before taking the pad and jotting something down and then showing it to him.

He also sees that the frumpy bathrobe and PJs have been replaced with a thinner, _shorter_, cotton robe with, what he's sure is, a nightie if the small sliver of lace he can seeing through the triangle on the neck of said robe is any indication but, then _that_ brings a whole mess of images to his brain that he'd much rather not have because she's _right_ there and he really doesn't wanna embarrass himself right now.

Instead he walks over to the counter and looks at the words she wrote down.

_"You cook?"_ He reads it slowly and looks to meet her curious gaze, nodding once before moving to her soup and adding a pinch of salt to the water. "Yup. You can thank my _dad_ for that." He says sarcastically as he busies himself. "What he lacked in parenting skills, he more than made up for in the kitchen area apparently and he taught my mom everything he knew and she, in turn, taught it to me." He turns and sees Amy_ clearly_ sniffing the air with appreciation. "Hungry?"

He laughs when she nods eagerly, her eyes for the first time since he'd seen her today, shining brightly in his direction and he fights the tightness forming in his chest as a result.

A moment later he's serving himself and Santiago generous portions of the hearty soup and sitting down next to her to eat, watching her briefly as she takes down a big spoonful, slurping an egg noodle, emitting a sound that seems akin to relief as she does so. "Good?"

She's so engrossed in her food that she barely answers and just gives him a distracted nod to which he chuckles and continues eating, too.

They eat in nice, comfortable silence - something that Jake would normally break out of with an inappropriate joke or a silly story or anything, just _anything_ to keep him from dwelling on whatever this whole thing between is or could be - and it's really great. So great, in fact, that he has a flash of something, a future where he gets to do this _whenever_ he wants to and the realization causes him to choke on his own noodles and tries to ward off Amy's worried face or her hands patting him on the back before he finally gets himself a glass of water to swallow down the wayward food because he'd be no good to her dead anyway.

They manage to get eat up more bowls of soup without further incident and when Jake sees Amy's eyes start to droop, he finally realizes how long he's overstayed his welcome and how late it's gotten and without thinking, gets up and carefully, gently, walks Santiago over to her bedroom, stopping outside the still open door as she shuffles herself in and for the first time in their years of partnership together, he sees her bedroom... if only for a brief glimpse and from his vantage point at her door, he can see her cream-colored, rumpled sheets being illuminated by a side lamp and the sight is so inviting that it literally takes a minute for it to dawn on him that he's almost walking forward into her bedroom and he stops himself before he can because there are lines and he could side-sweep _most_ of them he continues.

He shakes himself out of it instead and steps way to create a large gap when Amy comes back out again. "I should go."

She frowns at him and he feels _really_ bad so, he amends. "I mean, it's getting late and you're getting tired and I should..." He gestures to her front door. "And you know, Holt will want an update because he worries and yeah, he sent me down here so..."

She steps closer to him and he fights to breathe as she does, the scent of her - a combination of earthy shampoo and her minty breath - making his head spin and he stiffens as she smiles at him and leans up into his face, a kiss landing squarely on his clenched jaw, one of her hands on his chest as the other circles his shoulder.

It's quick. Just a swift imprint of her petite frame near him, her scent up his nose, her breath on his face and he closes his eyes briefly to savor the brief contact and has the impulse to turn his face into hers and take what's so clearly an offer and what he now knows he's wanted for _so_ long if only he could just-

But, then she's stepping back down on her toes and the moment is done and he keeps his eyes closed for a minute before opening them to see her smile at him. Really, genuinely smile at him. A smile he can tell is full of promise.

He reluctantly steps away to clear his head and is stepping before - just because - he turns again and catches her eye and when she waves at him, her smile still present, his heart jumping inside his chest like a pinball.

Jake's pretty sure he leaves with a stupid, goofy grin on his face.

And he could honestly care less.


End file.
